


Leading On

by Snowmane



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Post-Game(s), Pre-Game(s), leading the way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-10
Updated: 2014-04-10
Packaged: 2018-01-18 22:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1444804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowmane/pseuds/Snowmane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two small moments from before and after the actual happenings of Dragon Age II: A young Marian argues with her pregnant mother somewhere deep in the woods and a woman who had to grow up too soon leaves behind the burning ruins of a city she once called home. It is not the first nor the last time she leads the way for those she loves, but Marian is not sure anymore where her journey will end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leading On

**Author's Note:**

> A small drabble I wrote after I heard the sentence "Lead the way, Hawke" one time too many. Hope you like it!

“And so… is the Gol…den City black… blackened. With each step… step you take my hall… no, ‘in my Hall.’”  
“That’s right. Go on, love.”  
“Mar…vel at perf… perfec…perfection, for it is floating. No, fl…flee…fleeting.… Mum, this is so boring!”  
With a loud _thud_ the book was closed and a pair of blue eyes darted through ruffled black hair. “Can’t we do something _fun_?”  
“An hour ago you were quite excited to do some reading.” Leandra reached out and stroke a few wild strains out of her daughters face.  
“Aye, but I didn’t know this book would be so boring.”  
“Don’t say ‘aye’. That is not a good word. Say ‘yes’.”  
“ _Yes_ , mum.” The girl rolled her eyes and made a face. “Can’t we play something?”  
“Darling, you know I can’t play chase with you right now.” The woman padded her rounded belly with a meaningful gesture. “The twins wouldn’t like that too much.”  
She watched calmly how her daughter carefully wrapped the book in its sailcloth cover and carried it back to their travel packs. It took the child some strength to lift the heavy volume but she did not complain. After Marian kicked some stones around she started collecting small branches and blades of grass to feed them to the small cooking fire in the middle of their camp. It seemed to keep her occupied enough so her mother went back to her place on the other side of the clearing and picked up her needlework again.  
Leandra shifted her weight into a more comfortable position and looked up every few seconds to watch her daughter with the satisfaction and joy only a mother could feel. With her dark hair and striking blue eyes Marian looked very much like a small, female copy of her father. She also must have gotten her bolt streak and the talent for getting in trouble (she called it “adventure”) from him. A Hawke to the very bone, not much a scion of the noble Amell family. Leandra smiled – she was not the best model for a Kirkwall noblewoman herself right now. Sitting in the middle of a forest, all her belongings packed in a few travel sacks and wondering where her apostate husband had gone off to again. He tried to keep as much of the mages’ business away from her, also for reasons of security. The less she knew, the less the templars would be able to hold against her.  
The sudden sound of a blazing flame and Marians giggling laughter interrupted her in her thinking: Her darling daughter had transformed the little campfire into flaming beacon and was happily playing with the flames in her hands.  
“Marian! How many times do I have to tell you not to play with magic while your dad is not around?” Magic. As much as Malcolm had tried to keep it out of their family live, as much as he hated himself for forcing them to wander around Ferelden to slip the Chantry’s grasp, his own daughter had inherited his curse. Or, she thought while the child calmed the flames and shot its best apologetic glance over to its mother, his gift. Leandra had never seen a child learning the ways of the arcane, but Marian saw her magic as the greatest gift one could receive. Unlike her disinterest in the Chant of Light and the household and handiwork teachings Leandra tried to bestow on her she wolfed down every bit of information her father gave her and was even learning Tevinter now so she could read his few arcane books as well.  
Sometimes her daughter was a miracle, sometimes she was deeply afraid what would become of her. Born and raised in the wilds, an apostate from the very beginning taught by another apostate – the Chantry would cringe at the sheer thought. Not that she already would have been scolded for describing the Chant as “boring”.  
“Mum, when is Daddy coming back?” Two emerald eyes caught and held her gaze. “He said he wouldn’t be long.”  
“I don’t know. But he won’t be happy that you skipped your reading again. And the writing lesson yesterday…”  
“Mum! I already told you, I was hunting a squirrel! And I nearly got it. But then it went up this tree and I got scared because I thought there might be wolves nearby and –“  
She lifted one hand to stop the swell of words.  
“I know, I know. Still, you might as well take out the book again and stop playing with the fire. But wash your hands first! Maker’s sake, Marian, how did you get covered in soot again?”  
“I just –“ The child stopped and turned her head at the faint noise of footsteps. “Dad!” she cried and jumped to her feet. She was half-way across the clearing as Malcolm stumbled into her. On the first look Leandra knew something was terribly wrong. His hair was a tangle; his clothes dirty and torn as if he had jumped through every bush in the forest. Incredibly blue eyes stared at her, bewildered and widened with fear. She knew what was coming before he even opened his mouth. “Run! Get Marian and run! I’ll hold them up.” The pregnant woman came to her feet, rushing to their trusted pony as fast as she could. It was a well-practiced drill and not the first time she did this.  
“Marian, help your mother.”  
“Dad, you’re bleeding!” The child’s high-pitched voice was alarmed.  
“It’s just a scratch. Now off with you. Go. GO!”

It only took them only a few minutes to clear the camp, and then Leandra and the girl were on their way. Her heart skipped a beat as she heard the sound of battle behind them. Her daughter was shaking, eyes filled with tears, but she stayed silent and even offered her shoulder for her mother to lean on. As the roaring of flames and clattering of steel came to a sudden end Marian stopped as well.  
“Marian, we have to go!”  
“I forgot the book, Mum. I left it at the clearing.”  
Leandra stared at her for a second, wondering how she could care about a book when all their lives were in danger.  
“It doesn’t matter. Lead the way; I’ll follow you with the pony.”  
She nodded, her face suddenly too composed, too steady for a girl her age. No child should experience such things but it was beyond Leandra’s abilities to change it. Without another word her daughter turned and started to walk deeper into the forest. Head raised high, shoulders back, her fingers and sleeves still smeared with grime she made her way through the thick scrub while behind them the fire turned the clearing into ashes.

 

_“Lead the way, Hawke.”_

 

She stops for a moment, lifts her head and closes her eyes. The rain is cold on her skin, but it washes away the blood and thus it must be a good thing. Cold, everything is cold: Her clothes, the metal staff in her clenched fist, her whole body is shivering from the cold. But the rain is on their side and so is the cold because it soothes the burns on her bare hands and she can imagine that it finds its way from her aching skin inside her bones, deep into her chest and gently vanquishes her burning heart. _Rain is good, the cold is good,_ she tells herself again. _They will have a hard time tracking us in this weather._  
Gathering the last bits of strength she turns and looks back at her trusted companions. It takes all of it, but she even manages a smile. “We’ll make it.” There is nothing left inside her head for big words, for a great talk about courage and goodness and the worth of real friends. But Varric will be kind later, she knows, and he will give her words and gestures and will make this whole drama so much better. Because real friends are worth a lot and she knows she has the best of all.  
“Don’t worry, sweet thing. We all had worse. And the Siren’s Call is just around the corner.” Isabela is the only one answering her smile, her teeth bright in the dark.  
“But I get sea-sick, ‘Bela.” Merrill’s voice is so weak it nearly gets swallowed by the rain.  
“You won’t this time, kitten. You’ll see, it’s going to be fun.”  
“And we all know your idea of fun.” Even Aveline’s bark sounds exhausted. But her hand is firmly intertwined with Donnic’s and as she looks up to meet Hawke’s eyes her face is just like the shield on her other side: Battle-stained, smeared with soot and mud but strong, so strong and Marian thinks that this is a certainty she’d like to have, too.  
“Let’s be done with the talking and move on.” Fenris looks the worst with all his bruises, cuts and his burst lip, the blood in his white hair washed down into an odd pinkish colour by the rain. But he is way too proud to let her heal him and Marian isn’t sure if she could heal as much as a scratch in her current condition. He stands upright, though, head to toe a free man and there is a challenge in his eyes which makes her remember that it takes so much more to beat a wolf into submission. She treasures this for herself, too, together with Isabela’s white-teethed smile and Merrill’s sweet innocence. There will be times to come she’ll need all of it.  
Beside the elf Varric nods in silent agreement. “Broody is right. Let’s get as many miles between us and that blighted city as possible. Bianca’s getting tired of this mess.” He pats the crossbow and she can nearly see the gears turning in his head. Yes, this will be a good story in the end, she is sure of it.  
Marian takes a deep breath before letting her eyes wander off to the last person remaining and it is hard, so hard to keep her heart cool as the rain when he doesn’t look up but simply stares at his own hands.  
“Anders”, she says, a question and a plea at the same time. He does not answer, does not move and she is afraid to take his hand, afraid to break whatever is still in place and so she drops her gaze, too, glad for the rain to hide her tears.  
“Lead the way, Hawke”, he mutters at last, all strength gone from his voice.  
And without another word she obeys. She lifts her chin and straightens her shoulders and walks briskly into the dark like she did so many times before.  
As the sun lifts over the horizon they set sail, Isabela shouting commands and obscenities alike while the rest of them slumps down on the wooden planks. It is just then that Marian realizes she has not only seen the abyss but jumped right into it.  
Hopefully she would learn to fly as well before they all hit the ground.


End file.
